who knows

So far, I am lost in a world of writer’s block. Very frustrating when I finally have time to do what I want to do. Typical, I suppose.

I’d like to have something deep and meaningful to discuss today, and I do—as the days go along and something strikes my fancy or gets me angry or makes me laugh, I tuck it away to write about later. However, I don’t really wanna write about anything like that. In fact, I don’t even want to write about what we both know I wanna write about. What’s the point?

The music plays

At times it makes me dance in my chair as the beat matches the rhythm of my fingers on the key

Other times, it’s like a knife—reminding of all that was and all that could have been, should have been

The ghosts surround

Materialize from nowhere, replaying scenes in front of my eyes, making me a voyeur on my past

Haunting my house, my town, my everyday life

Maybe I’m the ghost

Words ebb and flow

Of my own volition and out of my control

Pouring out of my soul, windows to turmoil—disarray

They build and rush, attempt to heal, disappear

Well, there ya go. Closed my eyes and let my fingers start to move and that came forth. Just rushed out. Whatever, I feel better.

Almost as good a cheeseburger. Almost.